At Kellogg’s Landing

We start with the car packed. Urgencies
boxed. Rufus in the back. There’s lightning
to the south. Morning’s sacred cows were sent
to slaughter. I no longer advise relatives
on securities. Rural commodities
have been severed from the malice of hard
labor. Horses from hands, the random
from chance. If one could only….

The alluvial landscape we drive through
accumulates particulars. Roadside junkyards.
Children on meth. Wives in aprons
at their windows wiping tears. Scrutiny peers
from hills sliced by the river we look for.
Behind the wheel I sort out my mind.
The odd comforts. Occasions of want and lack.
Rain seems just. Storm and flood
follow water.

A towboat with barge for eight cars
answers my flashing lights.
We’re two passengers but carry baggage.
Wind whips up willows on the river bank.
We cross over, river at our heels.
The passing horn of a tow, deep sorrowful
out in the current. Water is running high.
There’s an attitude in the light rain falling.